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LIVING
ON
THE EDGE
Stories of Inspiration
Dovid Goldwasser
The Judaica Press, Inc.
© Copyright 2002, by Rabbi Dovid Goldwasser
Over the years, I have been privileged to meet interesting people
from diverse backgrounds: A taxi driver in Warsaw, a headmaster in
Budapest, a caretaker in Kiev, a street cleaner in Jerusalem, a counter-
person in Los Angeles, and the publisher of a secular magazine in New
York City. The list goes on and on. Sometimes those who appear as
ordinary people, in reality, live remarkable, extraordinary lives. It is
those encounters the exchange of ideas, the sharing and interlocking
of heart, mind and soul that make for the most special moments in our
lives.
Our Chachomim (Sages) say, "Acquire for yourself a friend"
(Avos 1:6). The word "acquire" connotes "buying." This means that
friendship is so important, it is even worth buying in certain situa-
tions. Choni, mentioned in the Talmud (Taanis), cried out to the
Almighty, "Give me companionship or give me death." It has certain-
ly been the companionship that I have enjoyed the world over that has
given me an immense sense of fulfillment.
Whenever I speak to a crowd, I try to analyze the listen-
ers seated before me. I like to figure out their concerns
and needs and see what I may be able to offer them
that would be most beneficial.
It was a particularly warm evening in Prague and I had just
ended my speech before a large audience. I noticed, during my
inspection of the crowd, that there was one man in the audience
who was staring at me intently with what appeared to be immense
curiosity and thirst for learning. However, he did not sit among the
crowd but, rather, he stood in the furthermost corner of the audito-
rium with his arms folded across his chest. Following the lecture,
many people gathered near the lectern to ask me questions. During
the entire question and answer period which lasted approximate-
ly forty-five minutes the same man who had been sitting in the
back now stood at a distance behind the group that had gathered.
Although he seemed quite interested, he did not allow himself to get
close to the crowd or to me. I wondered about him briefly and th
dismissed it with the thought, "To each his own."
For the next few days of my visit, this scene would be repeat.
At each lecture, I noticed this same man standing almost outside c
the room. After I finished speaking, as people would express thei;
personal thoughts or questions, he kept his distance. As much as 1
would have liked to befriend him, I was hesitant. On the last night
before leaving Prague, I spoke about being sensitive to others and
being able to feel another's pain, and the difficulty of walking alone
in the world.
Following the lecture, the usual question and answer period
commenced. Once again, I noticed this same man standing isolated
from the crowd. As soon as the crowd dispersed, he made his way
up to me and, with obvious reluctance, introduced himself.
"My name is Andre*. I wanted to tell you how much this
evening's lecture spoke directly to me. You see, when I was a little
boy, our entire community was rounded up and told to meet at
Umschlag Platze, the place of deportations. Little did we know that
the trains were destined for the death camps. We had been told that
we were going to a place where there would be a better quality of
life. I trudged through the streets with my mother and when we
were only two kilometers from Umschlag Platze, my mother, with a
panic-stricken look on her face, shrieked, "We are getting too close
we are getting too close." With that, she instructed me to run with
her away from the path. We eventually wound up in a neighboring
city and hid there until after the war. Since that time, I have been
plagued by the fear of ever coming too close to anyone. However,
after this evening's lecture, this fear was replaced with a different
one the fear of leaving this world a lonely, friendless soul."
* The names in the story have been changed to protect the identities of people involved
After a lengthy, heart-to-heart talk, I had the immense privilege
of shaking Andre's hand something that he had not experienced in
over fifty years.
Andre's loneliness caused me to ruminate on how tough it is to
go through life alone. Perhaps the most powerful source of positive
energy is the strength one derives from close friendships. Indeed, it
has been stated that two loyal friends are mightier than the angel
Michael.
We fortify each other in more ways than can be enumerated:
physically, mentally and spiritually.
A commonly used expression when a Book of the Torah has
been completed, or on other momentous occasions in life is, "chazak,
chazak v'nischazeik" (be strong, be strong and you shall be strength-
ened). Why do we say this?
One of the reasons we say this is because whenever we finish a
section of the Torah, there is always the challenge to begin anew and
not rest on our laurels. It is specifically at this crucial juncture that
words of encouragement are vital.
I once heard a wonderful story about a mountain climber who
dreamed of climbing an extremely high mountain. After much plan-
ning and training, he set off. However, he incorrectly estimated the
amount of effort and energy he would need for the trek. Then a vio-
lent snowstorm erupted. The sub-zero temperature began to freeze
the mountain climber's weakened limbs. Frostbite began to set in.
With each step, the mountain climber feared that he would succumb
to the elements and be buried in a snowy grave. Finally, the moment
arrived when the mountain climber felt his last ounce of strength
ebb. He took one more step and felt that it would be his last. As he
lowered his foot, he felt something underneath. He bent over and
brushed the snow away from the object. He was astonished by what
he saw. A fallen mountain climber lay beneath the snow! His initial
impression was that the body was lifeless. Upon closer examination,
he detected a faint heartbeat. He knew that the only thing to do was
to start rubbing the body to try to stimulate the man's circulation.
After a few minutes, he saw signs of life beginning to return to the
frozen mountain climber. However, a strange thing occurred. Not
only had he revived the fallen climber, he had revived himself as
well, due to the body warmth that was created.
Human warmth and friendship are two powerful sources of
positive energy. Sometimes it takes a long while to realize this it
took Andre more than fifty years to realize the riches he had been
missing.
lowered his foot, he felt something underneath. He bent over and
brushed the snow away from the object. He was astonished by what
he saw. A fallen mountain climber lay beneath the snow! His initial
impression was that the body was lifeless. Upon closer examination,
he detected a faint heartbeat. He knew that the only thing to do was
to start rubbing the body to try to stimulate the man's circulation.
After a few minutes, he saw signs of life beginning to return to the
frozen mountain climber. However, a strange thing occurred. Not
only had he revived the fallen climber, he had revived himself as
well, due to the body warmth that was created.
Human warmth and friendship are two powerful sources of
positive energy. Sometimes it takes a long while to realize this it
took Andre more than fifty years to realize the riches he had been
missing.
Budapest, Hungary
INNOCENT
"You must not refuse to lend a book, even to an
enemy, for the cause of learning will suffer."
Rabbi Yehuda of Regensburg, Germany, 1200
We all dream of the day when there will be world peace
and everyone will dwell together in harmony.
Although in each generation we talk of achieving ever-
lasting peace, we have yet to develop the one crucial ingredient nec-
essary for peace acceptance and love for all of G-d's children.
Textbooks are filled with detailed histories of wars and crimes
against humanity. These atrocities have not only spanned the mil-
lennia, but have occurred everywhere in the world.
As a young boy studying in school, I took particular interest in
world history, war and peace. I learned that attempting to under-
stand the dynamics of people hating people is complex. However,
what was utterly impossible for me to grasp was what transpired on
that fateful night in history we have come to know as
"Kristallnacht."
On this night the Nazis confiscated seforim (holy books) inno-
cent books and set them ablaze in massive public bonfires. Etched
in history are the countless scenes of those books and Torah scrolls
set aflame and the shuls that were vandalized, pilfered and finally
burned to the ground. The term "Kristallnacht" describes the shat-
tered glass that blanketed the streets the sole monument to the
shuls and Jewish-owned stores that are but a glimmering memory.
Although none of us can ever comprehend the rationale of
senseless hatred, I always wondered how one could ever hate books
so much so as to let the flames of rage devour them?
The State of Israel presented one of the important leaders of the
U.N. with a special gift. It was a
Passover Haggadah bound in a
sterling silver cover. The book
was personally inscribed by the
Israeli Head of State. This U.N.
leader was a rabid anti-Semite,
but had hidden his true colors for
many years. Following a dramat-
ic ceremony in which this man
was presented with the book, he
returned to his office. He prompt-
ly and unceremoniously flung the
book into the waste basket.
Passover Haggadah presented
at the United Nations.
Later that night, as a maintenance man emptied the waste basket
into a larger canister, he noticed something glimmering. He retrieved
the object, not quite sure what it was. He opened the book and, after
seeing the inscription, realized what had transpired. The book was
then given to me by two wonderful people who wanted my assur-
ance that the book's sanctity would be protected forevermore.
Anna, a European woman in her late 60's, works as a nurse,
and is a dedicated professional. In fact, she was a G-d-send
during the months in which my mother, of blessed memo-
ry, was ill. Anna devotedly assisted my mother each night during
her last months on this earthly world.
I would travel weekly to spend time with my mother. During
these visits, whenever Anna would be present, usually in the
evening, she would ask me questions. The inquiries would invari-
ably be about the beliefs and philosophy of the Jewish people. Her
questions were varied and interesting. However, I always sensed a
deeper reason for her inquisitiveness.
On the evening of my last visit, I remember her approaching me
rather apprehensively. "Could I ask you to pray for me?" she timid-
ly asked. "Of course I will," I told her. She then asked if I would
remember her, to which I answered her by saying, "I will never for-
get what you have done for my mother."
* The names in the story have been changed to protect the identities of people involved.
Seven years passed
since that last visit. I was on
a lecture tour throughout
Eastern Europe. It was dur-
ing a brief stay in Budapest
that I prayed at the grave of
the holy Sage, Rabbi
Shimon Oppenheim. Aside
from my personal and com-
munal petitions, I prayed
that if there was anything
that 1 could do on behalf of
the kedoshim (martyrs) of
the Holocaust, that G-d
would deem me a worthy
shaliach (messenger).
Immediately upon my
return from visiting the
cemetery, I received a tele-
phone call from my eldest brother informing me that Anna, my
mother's former night-shift nurse, wanted to get in touch with me
concerning an urgent matter. When I contacted Anna, she explained
that she had something in her possession that did not really belong
to her. She had been meaning to return it for quite some time.
Although she didn't reveal what it was, I gave her my address.
A few days later I received a package in the mail. I carefully
removed the wrapping and stared at a brown box embellished with
soft colors and peaceful, smiling angels. This strange looking case
seemed to belong much more in a cathedral than in my own hands.
As I opened the case, I was shocked. Inside lay an outstanding
Grave of tzaddik, Rabbi Shimon Oppenheim.
Seven years passed
since that last visit. I was on
a lecture tour throughout
Eastern Europe. It was dur-
ing a brief stay in Budapest
that I prayed at the grave of
the holy Sage, Rabbi
Shimon Oppenheim. Aside
from my personal and com-
munal petitions, I prayed
that if there was anything
that I could do on behalf of
the kedoshim (martyrs) of
the Holocaust, that G-d
would deem me a worthy
sJtaliach (messenger).
Immediately upon my
return from visiting the
cemetery, I received a tele-
phone call from my eldest brother informing me that Anna, my
mother's former night-shift nurse, wanted to get in touch with me
concerning an urgent matter. When I contacted Anna, she explained
that she had something in her possession that did not really belong
to her. She had been meaning to return it for quite some time.
Although she didn't reveal what it was, I gave her my address.
A few days later I received a package in the mail. I carefully
removed the wrapping and stared at a brown box embellished with
soft colors and peaceful, smiling angels. This strange looking case
seemed to belong much more in a cathedral than in my own hands.
As I opened the case, I was shocked. Inside lay an outstanding
antique silver yad (pointer), similar to those used to help read the
Torah when it was unrolled in synagogues the world over. As I gen-
tly lifted the religious article from its "case," I took note of its deco-
rative stones, immediately realizing its high monetary value, aside
from its inherent religious worth. This was obviously an antique;
there was no question about it. There were even a few empty spaces
which had apparently held other, perhaps more valuable stones in
the past. This magnificent pointer obviously had a story to tell.
It suddenly dawned on me
that I was so absorbed in admira-
tion of this rare find that I had
temporarily lost all awareness of
how it ultimately had landed in
my hands. Now, considering how I
ended up with this extraordinary
yad, its mystery grew even more.
The questions racing through my
mind knew no bounds: How in the
world did a non-Jewish night-shift
nurse get hold of a yad? How long
had it been in her possession ? How old
was the yad? Wlrere did it originate?
As my mind searched for clues
to this unsolved mystery, so did
my hands. Fortunately, it didn't
take me long to find the following
note hidden among the countless layers of tissue paper still in the
cardboard box:
Dear Rabbi,
I hope this letter finds you well. I've been meaning to give you
the enclosed item for a very long time. Please forgive me for not
sending it to you before. This silver rod has been in my family for
decades; it was originally taken from a burning synagogue on
Kristallnacht. I always had a feeling you would appreciate this
article. I hope I'm right.
Anna Krautner
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